


do what you think best

by couldaughter



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 21:58:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18374888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: “My favourite book is Jake the Dog.”“Oh, cool,” said Quentin, seeming genuinely interested. “Is he a special dog, or just a regular dog?”“He’s got super powers.”





	do what you think best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [surreptitiously](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreptitiously/gifts), [middlecyclone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlecyclone/gifts).



> to meg, katy, and sriya, who KNOW WHAT THEY GODDAMN DID

Jen had been preparing for the seventh annual kindergarten Career Day more or less since the moment the sixth had ended the year before. Nevertheless, she was prepared for being underprepared. This goddamn day always found _something_ to throw at her.

She sighed at the sign-up sheet she’d tacked to the class noticeboard. It was overbooked, because every single parent was convinced their job was going to inspire a generation of bored six year olds to consider a life in the financial sector, and it was going to be hell trying to get parents to drop out with vague promises of ‘next time’.

First grade did not have a Career Day. Jen wanted Sal’s life so fucking badly.

The first bell rang just as she was deliberating between Kayden’s dad (accountant) and Brenna’s mom (also an accountant) so she gratefully set down her pencil and got ready to welcome the only good thing about her class - the kids.

The first rush was full of cheerful hellos from kids as they brushed past her legs and harried half-smiles from parents who just really needed to ask about the accelerated reading program _right now_. The second rush, a couple minutes later, was generally when the morning levelled out slightly.

“Miss Harrison! Miss Harrison!”

Jen turned with a genuine smile to see Margo spill over the threshold and land sprawled on the carpet, giggling happily.

That kid was worryingly good at coping with her own clumsiness. Jen still teared up a little every time she walked into one of the kid’s desks, often enough that her legs were pretty much permanently littered with bruises.

“Hi, Margo,” she said, still smiling as she helped her up off the floor. Her favourite butterfly hairclip was revealed, crushed, beneath her knees. Margo’s dad, tall and lanky and permanently smirking as always, shook his head at the sight.

“Honestly, junior,” he said, fond as anything. “We’re gonna have to get the pushchair out again.”

“Noooo, dad,” Margo replied, on her feet once again. She pushed him lightly, and her dad reacted as if she’d cut off his leg, hopping dramatically as Margo giggled with delight.

“Morning, Mister Waugh,” said Jen. “Go on, Margo, go see your friends, alright?” She scooped up the remains of the clip with a grimace. Margo might not mind it now, but when she realised… well, it might not bear thinking about.

Margo didn’t need any more encouragement than that, rushing past to join Greta and Haylee at the sandbox. They were constructing some kind of elaborate sandcastle city - Jen knew Margo was pretty into the Fillory books, which she herself had ended up passing by in favour of Northern Lights. Never quite got round to reading them when she got certified, either.

“Did you need anything?” Mister Waugh looked at her, gaze completely level. Jen had forgotten, in the intervening week since he’d last dropped Margo off, that he super freaked her out sometimes. It wasn’t a _bad_ kind of freaked out - more like she wanted to, whatever, bow her head when he looked at her or something. She couldn’t really explain it, but it made telling him about the reading program and the after-school enrichment clubs way more difficult than it needed to be.

She shook herself, just a little. “Uh, yes, actually. I was wondering if you could confirm your sign-up for the Career Day today? The signature is kind of a squiggle, I’m only like seventy percent sure it even says Waugh.”

It was a very long squiggle; it was lucky Jen spent so much time every day deciphering kid’s first attempts at writing.

“Oh, that’s Q, not me,” said Mister Waugh. His smile went soft, all at once. Jen resisted the urge to roll her eyes, or maybe sigh sadly. “Definitely coming, don’t worry. Margo got very excited about it over dinner last night. Couldn’t get her to eat any of her carrots.” He rolled his eyes in a way which suggested this was not even close to an isolated incident.

“Alright, thanks,” said Jen. She went to wave, only remembering the remains of the clip at the last moment. “Oh, hang on. You should take this before Margo realises she’s caused a casualty.”

Mr Waugh took it and shook his head. “I’ll get Q to take a look at it. He’s very good at, uh, mendings.” There was something secretive about the way he smiled as he said it.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll see how it goes. Have a good day,” she offered, along with the hairclip.

“You too,” said Mister Waugh, taking it off her hands. He waved at Margo, barely half a motion, and turned away only at the very last moment as he left.

 

* * *

 

Margo Arielle Coldwater-Waugh was a perfectly happy little girl, ready and willing to get into any amount of trouble and climb any tree which presented itself, no matter how high or fragile the branches.

This was a fairly standard configuration for a five year old, so far as Jen was aware, but the _degree_ of trouble which her designated adult was apparently willing to laugh off was something of a mystery to Jen.

Not that Margo had actually been in any danger the one time she’d been left unsupervised long enough to climb the only tree in the playground and refuse to come down, but it seemed somewhat negligent to promise to take her to find better trees rather than scold her for worrying her teacher.

Jen was not biased at all.

The point of this was that Jen had never actually met the mysterious Q, or found out their profession, whatever it may be, and she was increasingly more nervous as the lunch bell edged closer. For all she knew they might be a lion tamer, or a deep sea diver, or another goddamn accountant. She wasn’t sure which she’d like least.

It was therefore with some reservations that she smiled at the man who eventually showed up at the classroom door, slightly ruffled, smiling softly, about five minutes before anybody else had pledged to arrive.

“Hiya,” said Q. “I’m Margo’s dad, I’m here for career afternoon?”

Jen bristled a little at the lack of audible capitals, then tamped the feeling down. It wasn’t the guy’s fault that no one respected a long held institution of the school. Or that she despised it with her whole being.

“Oh, of course,” she said, offering her hand. Q took it and shook, firm and (thankfully) dry-palmed. Jen really didn’t know how she would deal with a sticky parent alongside uncounted sticky students. “I’m Jen Harrison. Margo’s a real sweet girl, you’re lucky to have her.”

It was a standard platitude, but Jen found herself really meaning it. It was true, in the first instance, and secondly Q just oozed sincerity. The CDC was going to have to get involved if it got any more contagious.

“Quentin,” said Q - Quentin. “And thank you. I’m, uh, I know. I really do.” He ducked his head, looking distant for a moment.

Jen smiled at him. “Well, thanks for coming down today. Now, in five-year-old words - what do you do?”

He grinned, light and quick. “Oh, well - actually I run a bookstore. A kid’s bookstore.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I get a lot of your class in, I think Margo might be the best free advertising anyone could get.”

“For a given value of free,” Jen returned. “Alright, thank you. I assumed you signed in at the front office?” At Quentin’s nod, she motioned him towards the row of kindergartner sized chairs she’d set carefully along the front wall of the room, and brought him a glass of juice. “You’re a little early, but the rest of the parents should roll in over the next couple minutes. Make yourself comfy, alright? You’re about ten adults down the list, so you might end up with the kids sleeping through your speech.”

Quentin nodded in thanks, and settled in with his juice and a very battered copy of one of the Fillory books he fished out of the book corner. Jen saw him wrinkle his nose at the cover, which was understandable. It had a pretty bad drawing of a grandfather clock, and nothing else. She figured a bookstore owner would be a bit more discerning about his editions.

Before she could ask him his opinion on the Narnia reprints, Archie’s mom arrived in a flurry of paperwork. She didn’t get a chance to look back at him until the kids came back in from lunch break and Margo, with a happy squeal, launched herself into his lap at high speed.

“Hey, rabbit,” Quentin mumbled, pressing his face into her hair - tightly braided, very pretty, completely different shade to his own dirty blond. He was smiling in a way that barely touched his mouth and completely filled his eyes. “You had a good day so far?”

Margo nodded in excitement. Jen sat down to tick off parents from the sign-up sheet and eavesdrop, as was her custom on Career Day.

“Me and Greta played knights all lunch an’ Haylee was the monster! It was so cool, she did a really cool monster face an’ everything. And then her older sister gave me a _piggyback_!”

Quentin’s face had done… something at the mention of a monster, but whatever it was smoothed out in time to laugh with Margo about her piggyback ride. Apparently she’d been taken all round the playground and across the monkey bars, somehow. It sounded like a good lunch.

Margo leaned in at that point, whispering something quietly enough that Jen couldn’t catch anything beyond muffled syllables, but whatever it was it made Quentin shake his head. “Not today, rabbit. You know that’s for family only.”

“But daaaad, your magic tricks are so _cool_!” Margo pouted spectacularly. She had been blessed with the kind of doe eyes Disney would spend three months rigging for 3D, and Jen even felt her own iron heart wavering at the sight.

She actually _saw_ Quentin wavering, but in the end he held firm. “No, kiddo, it’s just not in the cards for today.”

Margo groaned sadly, but settled down when Quentin bounced her a little.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Quentin said, again with that slight smile. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a miraculously intact butterfly hairclip, sequins and all. Jen squinted at it from her perch across the classroom, and it certainly _looked_ like the same one as that morning, but there was no sign of damage.

Clearly Quentin had stopped by Claire’s on his way in. There were worse fictions parents maintained for their children.

The clock struck one thirty just as the last parent on Jen’s list turned up, looking harried and trailing behind Sandra, Jen’s long-suffering classroom assistant. She gave her a weary look from behind said parent’s shoulder and mouthed, “Accountant.” with visible scorn.

The afternoon was never all bad, of course. Being in New York, there was a diversity of parental careers that Jen hadn’t found in her previous job up in Buffalo. After a performance artist, a fashion designer and, of course, an accountant had presented, Jen found herself actually paying attention instead of tidying the reading corner, her original plan for the afternoon.

She did love the kids, she really did, but they had _no_ idea how books ought to be put on a shelf.

Quentin was up between a firefighter and a contortionist - an unenviable position to be in - and Jen sighed in sympathy at his clear nervous tension.

“Uh, hi everybody,” he began, giving a small wave. The class waved back in a moment of unexpected collective humanity. “I’m Margo’s dad, the Coldwater half. I run the kid’s bookstore on West 35th, I think I’ve seen a couple of you in there.”

A few of the kids nodded, looking satisfied to know something about a grown-up.

“I, uh, I wasn’t really sure how to approach this whole speech thing. I’ve done a lot of public speaking but it was in kind of a, uh, a different social context.” He ducked his head, as if feeling a heavy weight pressing down on him. “I’ve run the store for about five years now, so it’s almost like the store and Margo are twins. She’s a lot more fun to be around, though. If any of you have questions…?”

About half a dozen hands shot up. This was slightly below average for the afternoon, but significantly above the one kid who’d asked the performance artist if he liked Pokemon Go.

“Do you sell toys?”

“Actually yeah, we do. Mostly stuffed animals; if you have any suggestions for other stuff we could stock, let me know later. I’ll take advice from anybody.”

“What’s the most books anyone ever bought?”

“Once, an old guy came in and picked out every copy of a book with a green cover. Still don’t know why.”

“My favourite book is Jake the Dog.”

“Oh, cool,” said Quentin, seeming genuinely interested. “Is he a special dog, or just a regular dog?”

“He’s got super powers.”

“Just a regular dog then.” Quentin smiled. He fielded a few more questions, mostly about the kids’ favourites, briefly advertised the weekly storytime at the bookstore, and sat back down. Margo, with all the care and grace of a queen, leant over to Greta and whispered, “He does magic!” at a volume audible only to dogs. Dogs all over the globe, actually. And certainly every human in the classroom at that moment.

There was no rescuing the class after that. All of them burst into excitement at the very mention of the word magic; there had been a magician at the school’s library fundraiser in October and ever since Jen had deliberately avoided the word for fear of this exact situation.

Behaviour management was a process, and an art, and something Jen was going to be working on every day until she finally retired.

Quentin looked completely mortified. It seemed like he was used to it, though; there was something lived-in about the expression. His fingers twitched just slightly as the book he’d been reading fell off the corner of her desk.

Jen shook the tambourine and waited for the class to settle. They gave her a collection of apologetic looks, none of which were in the least convincing.

“Is this how we behave in Meteors, class?”

“ _No_ , Miss Harrison.”

“Alright then, let’s remember our golden rules and have a much better rest of the afternoon. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” came a chorus of children. And, miraculously, they really did. With the exception of a small wobble when Jayden’s mom introduced herself as a dog whisperer, they were as good as gold right up until dismissal.

Maybe magic _was_ real.

Margo leapt straight into Quentin’s lap as soon as the bell rang, arms clinging tightly around his neck, clearly expecting to be carried out of the classroom.

Jen left them to it, stood sentinel at the classroom door with the rest of the class. It was a fairly stress-free end to the day, really, since all the kids whose parents had come for Career Day got whisked off fairly quickly, and the rest of them were content to sit on the carpet and chatter in excitement about their future careers as lion tamers or princesses or washing machines.

Mr Waugh arrived in a lull between Greta’s au pair and the Sullivan twins’ moms, looking just as put together as always despite the howling wind outside. “Afternoon,” he said, leaning around her in a way he probably thought was discreet.

“They’re in the book corner,” said Jen, suppressing an eye roll.

Mr Waugh flashed her a thumbs up and slipped past with a murmured thanks. Quentin and Margo were absorbed in a game of make believe involving the classroom’s entire supply of plastic dinosaurs, a Play-Doh mountain, and a tower of cards Jen hadn’t even seen them make. It was fairly elaborate.

Margo noticed her other parent’s approach first, shouting, “Dad!” excitedly and jumping up in a way which ought to have knocked over the card tower. It barely wobbled.

In contrast, Quentin took his time packing away the toys before pushing himself to his feet, knees making an audible protest at the movement. He grimaced, rubbing at his lower back.

“Hello, dear,” said Mr Waugh. Something in his voice made Jen turn away; there were things she needed to sort in the teacher’s cupboard, probably. She could definitely _find_ something to sort, if she tried hard enough.

“Hi, El,” Quentin replied. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Mr Waugh - El, apparently - sounded delighted. “Well, I hear it’s the next big thing. They say the famous Margo has been spotted coming here on the reg.”

“No one says that anymore,” said Quentin. “You can’t make it happen.”

“Don’t you dare quote that movie at me, Coldwater,” said El. “That’s like declaring war. And you know our track record on that front.”

Quentin sighed. “Let’s go. I kinda want ice cream.”

“You really know the way to a man’s heart, Q,” said El, sounding hopelessly fond. “Alright, junior, let’s go. I’m thinking it’s a two scoop kind of night.”

Margo shrieked happily.

Jen knocked over a full bucket of crayons, intent on staying in the cupboard as long as she could, and watched in complete silence as they failed to scatter on the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> uh... sorry?
> 
> i am still in the process of watching the Actual Show, but i love these two hideously in love losers a great deal. enough that i have inflicted a child upon them, in a year group i am aiming to never actually teach in my future career in education.
> 
> title is from please mrs butler by allan ahlberg.
> 
> find me on twitter and tumblr @dotsayers! i will hopefully write something with a plot again... soon... eventually... maybe


End file.
